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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24950446">Fine With Surviving [Be More Chill Musical]</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caesars_Salad/pseuds/Caesars_Salad'>Caesars_Salad</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Feels, F/M, Gay Male Character, Gay Michael Mell, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Michael Mell Has a Squip, Please Kill Me, seriously please help i dont know anymore, some sorta romance thing going on maybe, things are about to get gay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:55:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,499</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24950446</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caesars_Salad/pseuds/Caesars_Salad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Let's get this one thing clear:</p><p>Michael Mell doesn't mind being unpopular.</p><p>He's also gay.</p><p>Why is that a problem?</p><p>Because he has a crush on his best friend, and his best friend is apparently straight.</p><p>When the popular guy, Rich, tells Michael that there's this pill that could help him get the girl, or in this case, get the guy, he jumps at the opportunity.  Things take a turn when the pill-the SQUIP-tells Michael that, in order to have Jeremy like him back, he's going to need to get popular.</p><p>On top of that, someone started a new school social media and is leaking secrets about the student body.<br/>It's only a matter of time before they make a post revealing something Michael isn't ready to reveal.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Christine Canigula/Jeremy Heere, Jeremy Heere/Michael Mell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fine With Surviving [Be More Chill Musical]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The story begins.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Some things may be unclear or confusing as I posted this with minimal editing.</p><p>(1499 Words)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The clock ticks.</p><p> </p><p>Five minutes in</p><p> </p><p>and I'm no closer to finishing.</p><p> </p><p>I stare blankly at the page in front of me, with the words "TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF" scrawled across the top in big, bold letters.</p><p> </p><p>Something about the way that they're in bold makes them seem confident. Like they know what their purpose is. I'm far from knowing that. See, that's the problem though, because one of the questions on the page is "What do you want to be when you grow up?"</p><p> </p><p>How am I supposed to answer that question if I don't know what my purpose is? I guess I could work at Seven Eleven, but that's only a part-time job for summers.</p><p> </p><p>There's no way you could make a living out of minimum wage.</p><p> </p><p>I tap my pencil mindlessly on the desk. I only have one blank filled out, and that's my name.</p><p> </p><p>Michael Mell.</p><p> </p><p>Why do we have to do this again? It's the second week of school. Oh, right, because we have a substitute.</p><p> </p><p>Well, since we have a substitute, I guess I can write whatever I want on the page. It's not like she'll be here for any longer than a day.</p><p> </p><p>I fill in the next blank "Tell me about yourself" with "I like listening to Bob Marley. Super into all that retro stuff. Also, I'm gay." I laugh a little at the last bit.</p><p> </p><p>It's a start.</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, everyone, pass your paper to the front."</p><p> </p><p>Okay. Well. I only have, like, two things filled out. I give the person in front of me my paper, and the lesson starts. I barely pay attention to any of it. Every now and then, I realize that I'm zoning out, but I can never get myself back in the zone. Sometimes it's easier just falling out of things. But not always.</p><p> </p><p>Especially love. It's hard to fall out of love.</p><p> </p><p>Especially when you're in love with your best friend.</p><p> </p><p>Who is straight.</p><p> </p><p>This is a problem.</p><p> </p><p>Jeremy. That's your name. And it's ridiculously difficult to get out of my head.</p><p> </p><p>Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy.</p><p> </p><p>All I can think of is you.</p><p> </p><p>It hurts.</p><p> </p><p>The bell rings. I check the time. Class has ended, and now it's lunch. Has it been that long? Maybe I zoned out too much. What can I say, time just goes faster when you think of your favourite person.</p><p> </p><p>I grab my backpack, the one that has "RIENDS" scrawled on it in big, bold letters. I'm not exactly sure what it means.</p><p> </p><p>The teacher calls me over, looking... Not very happy with me. She holds up my introduction paper. "You didn't write very much," She says, her mouth a thin line.</p><p> </p><p>I shrug. "I didn't know what to write."</p><p> </p><p>She points at the few lines I did write. "'I'm gay?' You can't make jokes like this. What about the people actually in the LGBTQ+ community?"</p><p> </p><p>I give her a look. "Okay, but, I am gay."</p><p> </p><p>And she pales. "Oh."</p><p> </p><p>Dear God. If I told you, you wouldn't have reacted like this. I mean, hopefully not. She thrusts the paper towards me, and I take it. She says something else to me, but it doesn't process. I'm just excited to see you. I hop-skip out of the room, and once I'm in the hallway, I toss my introduction paper in the recycling. Goodbye, weird assignment, and may we never cross paths again.</p><p> </p><p>There is absolutely no way this could backfire and slap me in the face later on.</p><p> </p><p>I'm so glad it's lunch. Yay for that. And yay for the fact that I see you sitting at the back of the cafeteria, near the windows, where we usually sit. My heart either stopped completely, or it's beating so fast I can't feel my own pulse.</p><p> </p><p>I approach you, and you look up from your sandwich to smile and happily say my name, "Michael!"</p><p> </p><p>And just like that, the whole world seems to light up. It's sunny everywhere. Every disease is cured. We've reached world peace.</p><p> </p><p>"What's up, Player Two?" I slide into the bench next to you and send you a smile only half as nice as yours.</p><p> </p><p>You punch me lightly in the arm. You're sick of me calling you my 'Player Two'.</p><p> </p><p>"Dude, come on, why do I have to be Player Two? Why not Player One??"</p><p> </p><p>"The day you beat me at Mario Kart is the day I promote you. So, never."</p><p> </p><p>You scoff, and I ask you if anything new has happened.</p><p> </p><p>"Well-- yeah, here," You put your heavy backpack onto the lunch table. It lands on the table with a 'THUNK.'</p><p> </p><p>On it reads 'BOYF'.</p><p> </p><p>Oh.</p><p> </p><p>Oh!</p><p> </p><p>I sling off my bag and put it beside yours, heart overflowing with happiness. "Oh, my mothers will be thrilled!"</p><p> </p><p>I grab my phone to take a selfie, but not before you move away with a groan.</p><p> </p><p>"I hate this school. Ah, hey-- I wrote Christine a letter? Telling her how I feel?"</p><p> </p><p>I grin half-heartedly, slinging my backpack onto my shoulders. "That's progress! You're making progress. Did you give it to her??"</p><p> </p><p>"Well-- no, I tore it up and flushed it." Your cheeks flush in embarrassment, somehow making you more adorable than you already are.</p><p> </p><p>"Dude, you can't just do that."</p><p> </p><p>"How about you try talking to your crush, then??"</p><p> </p><p>I shrug. "I'm not... into any girls... at the moment," I add quickly. That was close.</p><p> </p><p>You throw me a weird look. "Really? No one?"</p><p> </p><p>"No, I-- hey, I heard on National Geographic last night, that humanity has stopped evolving!" I try to derail the conversation just a bit.</p><p> </p><p>"That's.... Good?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, evolution is survival of the fittest, right?? And now, with technology, you don't have to be strong to survive!"</p><p> </p><p>You narrow your eyes at me. "Okay....?"</p><p> </p><p>"Which means there's never been a better time in history to be a loser!" I laugh, side hugging your shoulders. "So own it, why be cool when you could be--"</p><p> </p><p>"...Signing up for the play..." You stare off in the distance, your voice wistful. Your eyes have that certain gleam to them, just like they do when you see a very specific person.</p><p> </p><p>"I was gonna say that we could be getting stoned in my basement, but, whatever floats your goat."</p><p> </p><p>"Goat...? No, look," You point across the cafeteria, where the billboard for posters is located. Near it, stands a girl, with short black hair... Christine. "Look who's signing up for the play!"</p><p> </p><p>And, yep, I can confirm that Christine is signing up for the play. She picks up the pen, hanging near a large sheet of paper, and writes her name on it with a flourish. She looks around happily, with a big smile on her face, and bounces off.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you gonna sign up?" I ask you, but it's too late. You already got up. You walk over to the sign-up sheet, grab the pen, and scrawl your name on the paper.</p><p> </p><p>I see Rich, sitting at the lunch table just diagonal from you. He stands up, cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, "GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!"</p><p> </p><p>Several people from several lunch tables laugh in unison, and I think I hear Chloe Valentine say something along the lines of "I like gay people."</p><p> </p><p>You immediately freeze and drop the pen. The pen falls, but only as far as the string attached to it lets it. It bounces up and hits you in the arm. I watch you stare back at me with what I can only describe as pure horror. Shock, maybe? Your eyes widen, your face flushes, and you look... utterly helpless.</p><p> </p><p>Soon the laughter fades, and everyone who turned to stare at you goes back to doing whatever they were doing. You rush over to me, looking dejected as ever. "I'm never gonna be cool, am I?"</p><p> </p><p>I shrug. "I think you're cool."</p><p> </p><p>You sigh, giving me a small smile. "Thanks, Michael. But I want other people to think I'm cool, too. I don't know, I just... Want to do something other than just survive. I want to be something of significance."</p><p> </p><p>"You are something of significance, dude! You're my best friend. Isn't that enough?"</p><p> </p><p>"I meant that I want to be something of significance to other people!" You pause, and mutter, "You wouldn't get it."</p><p> </p><p>And, well, you're right. I don't get it. Because, for me, having a best friend is all that I could ever want. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's not the only thing that I want,</p><p>contradictory to the other sentence. It's complicated.</p><p> </p><p>The bell rings, and then we're off on our separate ways. Math for you, and a free period for me. I decide to go to the library. Maybe I'll chill out there and complete some assignments. As I enter the large doors to the library, I think about what you said.</p><p> </p><p>You want to do more. Achieve great things. Me? I think I'm just fine with surviving.</p>
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